[He keeps to his patterns. It's so important to keep the walk clear. It's the only path he knows to follow. Stepping off the concrete and stone leds to snow banks and dull grass. The way snow clings to the end of a boot and the hem of pants. The sky above seems swirled with grey. The cold seeps into his fingers. The wind kicks up. Shifts the snow like sand dunes for a moment, and then stills.]
That'd be up to you. Wouldn't it?
[Another pile removed from the walk. He takes longer this time, to return the shovel to the task. Distraction. That's all this was. It had to be. Idle hands and devil's playthings. Work, constantly, to keep them busy. To keep them focused to the task. To keep him walking the pathway, so he doesn't go so far astray.
Every time he looks over at Archer, he feels it's already too late.]
no subject
That'd be up to you. Wouldn't it?
[Another pile removed from the walk. He takes longer this time, to return the shovel to the task. Distraction. That's all this was. It had to be. Idle hands and devil's playthings. Work, constantly, to keep them busy. To keep them focused to the task. To keep him walking the pathway, so he doesn't go so far astray.
Every time he looks over at Archer, he feels it's already too late.]